worth a shot
by glueskin
Summary: vanitas wakes up. unfortunately - or maybe fortunately - ventus is there, too. post kh3. written for the kh60 min prompt 'reunion'.


vanitas! your trauma!

anyway lol...hi...justice for vanitas 2k19 he deserved better than what he got. fucking xehaqus got their gay ass happy ending and are making old man love in the afterlife but vanitas is...where? where is he?

in my heart

sorry this is shorter than my usual ones!

* * *

Awareness comes in pieces.

His Unversed have done it again, Vanitas thinks blearily; they've brought him back to that world full of screams and laughter, piecing him together bit by bit until there's enough of him to maintain consciousness.

Someone is giggling, touching what has manifested of his leg, and giggling harder when their finger sinks into the shadowy flesh. Vanitas doesn't have it in him to solidify his form, barely manages to make a protestful noise and crack open an eye.

A blur of pink is all he sees before the light makes him squeeze his eye back shut, groaning pitifully.

Everything hurts, but that's nothing new—Vanitas is always in pain.

Someone says something. He doesn't hear it, already sinking back into unconsciousness.

He's not sure how long it is until he wakes up again—the giggling is gone, and nobody is touching his skin, so that's an improvement.

He tries blinking open his eyes again. His lashes stick to his skin, reluctant, but he manages and immediately wishes he hadn't—it's bright, too bright, but more than that the familiar silhouette of someone he knows is talking to that…thing…that had thrown him last time.

The green blob beside him points towards him, which, rude. Vanitas' fears are confirmed when Ventus turns, eyes going wide at the sight of him awake.

Vanitas blinks, but his eyelids must stick shut for longer than he thought because when he opens them again Ventus is kneeling at his side. Some of Vanitas' Floods are skittering nearby, uncertain but unwilling to leave.

Ventus looks different. Strange, the way Sora had when Vanitas met him here, but he's still undeniably _Ventus. _

"Vanitas," says his better half, smiling with something like relief. It's disgusting. "I'm glad I found you."

_Disgusting. _

"Come to finish the job?" Vanitas rasps, straining with the effort to choke out even this many words. His throat burns. His face hurts when he forces his mouth to twist into a smile, a mockery of Ventus' own kind expression. "Sorry, I won't be much of a challenge. Just get it over with."

_Get it over with. Put me out of my goddamn misery. _

Ventus looks stricken at his words.

"Vanitas, I—I didn't come here to fight you. Or _finish you off_," he says, tone despairing and horrified. Vanitas can't stomach it. If he had anything in him, he might actually throw up.

But he doesn't. He can't remember the last time he ate, even before his body was broken apart.

"I've been thinking," Ventus says when Vanitas remains quiet, and were it not for the pain in his throat he would make a smart remark. "And I talked to Ansem and his apprentices in Radiant Garden about it, too. About...the Replica's they've been making for—for some of the Nobodies, and for the other Riku. And…I don't see why the same can't be done for you."

Vanitas squints at him. He wants to tell himself Ventus is lying, but that's the worst part—he knows, intrinsically, that the other is being entirely sincere in this.

Vanitas tries to imagine it, but he can't. A body. A real one, one that doesn't break apart into darkness, that doesn't birth Unversed with each hurt he can't bring himself to control, that doesn't overwhelm him with pain with each Unversed destroyed.

He's so fucking tired of being in pain.

"Why?" He asks, because there's always a catch. Even if it's Ventus, too-good Ventus, who is looking at him with such desperate hope.

"I'm tired," Ventus says, and Vanitas wonders if he's able to read his mind now, too. "Of fighting you, of hating you. I don't—there's no point to it."

No point, he says, and maybe there isn't. No point except for Vanitas' own desperate need to validate himself, but—to who, now?

Does it matter?

"You don't have to," Ventus says urgently when Vanitas doesn't answer. "If you don't want to, it's fine, but can I...can I at least bring you to Radiant Garden? You can recover there. If you don't want to stay once you're better, I won't stop you, and I won't let anyone else either."

A place to recover himself. The opportunity to leave if he wants.

_It's a trap, _everything in him screams, but.

He's so, so tired.

"You're crazy," Vanitas mutters, struggling to keep his eyes open. Ventus laughs, a shaky but bright sound. The blackened husk that thumps in his chest, a sorry excuse for a 'heart', aches tightly.

"You're not the first to say that," Ventus says, rueful, his smile pretty in all the ways Vanitas' isn't.

He's everything Vanitas has never been able to be.

He can't keep himself awake. Eyes slipping shut, Vanitas says, "Do what you want," under his breath. It's not an outright yes. It's not a no.

"What do _you _want?" Ventus asks instead, and Vanitas has to force his eyes open at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. It dips into the dark flesh. If Ventus is grossed out or uncomfortable, he's doing a good job of hiding it.

"...I'm tired," Vanitas echoes his own thoughts and Ventus' own words. He doesn't want to look at that kind expression, so he closes his eyes again. "Take me to Radiant Garden."

He might as well give it a shot. If they kill him, well, nobody is going to care—and he was ready to die, anyway.

And if Ventus is serious, then...then maybe…

As he's lifted in Ventus' arms, his thoughts trail off with his consciousness.


End file.
